


Army Physical

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger schemes in all situations. Sometimes it pays off.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Army Physical

The baleful look Klinger gave him upon summoning him for his annual physical made Charles laugh. 

“There are, ah, far too many swear words in your expression for a lady of your quality, Max.” 

“Exactly! This is a great dress! I don’t want to muck it up dressing and undressing for a completely pointless physical. You know what my chart says. I know what my chart says and I Corps could care less what my chart says because they ain’t letting me out, so can’t you just tell me to smoke less and let me stay pretty?” 

Opening the door to the “office” where such things were done, Charles waved him through, chuckling at the theatrical sigh he received and promising to be careful of the batiste folds and sugar-rose accents that adorned his latest creation. 

“Glad it’s you, anyway,” Klinger grudgingly admitted as Winchester worked through his file, updating. 

“Oh? Why?”

“You’re at least a gentleman about the clothes thing. Hawk would still be laughing at me.” 

Charles didn’t know the proper response for this. He enjoyed Klinger’s strange forays into fashion - even unto the sway of his hips. It was harmless, the pleasure he took in watching, so he didn’t worry about it. He was long resigned to that part of his life being something of a closed room; it existed, but why turn the knob or stir up the dust?

When he approached, Klinger held up his hand to ask him to wait. “If I can’t get you to just sign off that I’m okay, can I try one more thing?”

“You are  _ asking my permission  _ to scam me?”

“Not scam! Geez, Major. Bargain.” 

“You possess access to nothing I want, Max.”

“How can you be so sure if you don’t hear me out?”

“I am always looking to make my letters home more, ah, noteworthy. Take your shot.”

“Major, the only way anybody lays a hand on me in this stupid camp - without it being a punch - is at a physical. So do the whole doctor thing if you gotta, but afterwards, you think you could just, y’know, hold me? Maybe touch me nice?” 

Charles gasped. “You are… your schemes are getting rather elaborate. And daring.” 

Dark eyes held his - unblinking and a little hurt. “It’s not a scheme, Major.” 

“Why would you…?”

Klinger had counted on that question; impulsive wasn’t in Charles' make-up. “Two reasons.” He held up two fingers. “You’re here - and I like you.” 

The first reason had made the Major’s mouth twist a little, like he’d gotten a taste of something sour, but the second changed his eyes and clued Klinger into the fact that this man, perceived as arrogant by so many, really  _ really  _ needed someone to be nice to him. 

Keeping himself very still, Charles said, “Not to don the mantle of a teenage crush, but, ah, how much?” 

“That matters?”

“I am not given to dalliances.”

“Me neither.” He smoothed his dress unnecessarily. “Major,” he whispered, “do you really think if I could get you, that I’d ever be able to let you go?”

When he looked back up, Charles had scrawled a hasty (shaky) signature across the forms. 

“I have done my part,” he told the wide-eyed Corporal. “You find us a place where the atmosphere is a touch less dour - mustn’t harm that dress - and I promise you the sort of touches that have absolutely no place in an army physical.”

Klinger decided not to hurry, reaching up to trace his cheek. “I didn’t think this would work,” he admitted. 

Charles angled his head to kiss his palm. “Maxwell, I am a brilliant man. Refusing you would call all of that brilliance into question, no?”

Klinger trembled at the warm feel of those lips nibbling across the skin of his hand. “I don’t always know what you’re talking about,” he admitted to the modern day aristocrat, “but I sure like listening to you, Major.” 

“I have always wished to tell you how lovely you are,” Charles admitted shyly. 

“You did. You’re the only one who remembers my dresses. You always see  _ me _ . Not the jokes… the different jobs - just me.”

Charles would never understand how anyone could do otherwise. While Klinger was looking down, shy as he made this admission, the surgeon seized the moment to claim his mouth. Either his desire was fiercer than he realized, or he was better at this than he remembered, because Klinger whined into his mouth, hungry and helpless. His lips were incredibly soft. 

“About finding another spot?” Charles prompted. If he didn’t get that dress off and safely over the back of something soon, he couldn’t vouch for its survival. 

“Yeah. Come on, Major.” He tugged at his hand - then started, shocked at the easy way he’d fallen into touching the other man. Charles stretched his fingers out, ran them over the fingers that had clasped his and sent electricity sugar-sparkling up Maxwell’s wrist. 

_ You can touch me _ , he wanted to say to the Corporal.  _ Always. Everywhere _ . But he could show him. For now, he adjusted his stride to match Klinger’s as he always had, never realizing that his very body seemed to know he belonged with Max… even if it had taken the rest of him a moment (and a brave ask) to catch up. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Back of Rosie’s. I rent a room there sometimes. Usually just for cards, but sometimes just to shut everything out.” 

Shutting everything out and losing himself with and in the enterprising young Corporal sounded like a prescription for all that had ever ailed him, thought Charles and when Max bolted the door, he grinned like a fool. 

“Alright, beautiful,” he said then. “I believe you had a request.”

“Or ten.”

“I have time. Hang up your dress and come down here.” The bed was actually a pallet, but it was clean and neatly made. And when Klinger joined him in it, it was all Charles could want. He tucked the younger man’s body in tight against his and covered them both with a blanket. 

Klinger was visibly nervous, but he smiled at being held. 

Charles teasingly tapped at his nose. “And you were so worried.” 

“You kept your white coat.”

Charles hadn’t noticed, but it was true. He sometimes dreamed of burning the thing - it, his cheap, army clipboard, the OR… everything, he decided right at that moment, but Max’s dresses and his records. “So, I did. I understood you to want out of your physical.” 

“Well, yeah, but…”

_ Oh _ . “Maxwell, you are a delight. Let no one ever say otherwise.”

“You say otherwise all the time, Major!” 

“A grievous error on my part. Now, this, ah, fetish - doctors in general… or…?”

“Doctors in general if they’re 6’ 3” and from Boston with this really cool accent and an old family name and a lotta records. Who like cognac.” 

_ Oh good.  _ “You’re very sweet.” 

“Just to you.” 

“I do not believe anyone has ever called me ‘sweet,’ Maxwell, but I do believe I can be good to you. For you. Certainly, I’ve never had a lovelier patient.” 

Klinger liked compliments- and he rarely got sincere ones. Hearing this, he practically bowled over the man who had given it, tangling them like line-dried laundry caught in a playful wind. “Or a less patient one,” Charles laughed. “I thought  _ I  _ was to examine you.”

“Go ahead. I’m… whaddaya call it? Paying ahead.” 

“I do not wish for  _ payment _ , dearest.”

“Good. My paychecks aren’t great. Get to work, doc, huh?” 

“Demanding pet. I suppose there is no cure for your mouth but to distract it… or fill it.” 

Klinger’s eyes went wide - partly with anticipation. Charles laughed at the expression. “Why so startled, darling? Has all your daring expired so soon?”

“Just… happy, Major. I thought… I thought it might lose me the other stuff, asking you. Glad it didn’t.” 

He sounded very young then and Charles was forced to confront the fact that his attention (and it had not always been either kind or positive) had real value to - and conferred real comfort on - this pretty Corporal.  _ His  _ pretty Corporal. “It is a small pallet, and your cot is smaller still. I will not allow you to lose me in either.” 

“My cot?” 

“My dear,” he kissed him then just to see if his mouth would remain open as he did so (it did). “I thought we agreed that this would be no fly by night venture, you and I.” 

“Just having trouble realizing it’s true, I guess.”

“True by virtue of your own bravery, Max.”

His eyes closed. “Nobody talks like you, Major,” he murmured, voice going low and labored, drugged on the sound of him. 

“No one has ever closed their eyes to better listen to me, either, my darling one.” He kissed his hair, his neck. “P’raps,” and he could hardly believe he was about to say it, little given to romantic fancies as he was, “it is you that I was made for - and you for me. You certainly fit admirably well in my arms.”

Klinger laughed softly into his long neck, fingers somehow beneath his shirt and making slow, entrancing circles on his back. “Oh, I knew that already, Major baby. Knew it the minute you got here.” His laughter was a warm burst that made Charles’ chest expand as if to breathe in the heavy scent of honeysuckle after warm rain. “I kissed Radar - he got all flustered and yelled at me for it but I didn’t mind - because he didn’t just request a surgeon, right? He requested  _ my  _ surgeon. You’re everything. Everything I ever wanted. And I hated how it hurt you to hafta stay… but if you’d gone back to Tokyo, I woulda had to change my game from trying to get a section eight to tryin’ ta get reassigned to wherever you were.” 

One of the Major’s favorite things about Klinger was his quick speech. He wasn’t a glib joker like Hawk or as cutting in cleverness as in surgery like Hunnicutt, but he was deft and bright - and honest. His seeming inability to shield himself, the innocent way he put everything out there, had made Charles half-frightened from the first. Realizing now that it was an asset (he would always be able to know if he was doing right by this lovely young man), he kissed over his jaw in praise, thinking:  _ you will tell me anything I ask, won’t you, Max? Every fantasy you’ve had since my arrival, every night you spilled into your own touch with my name in your mouth… and I will redeem them all. Reenact them all if you wish it.  _ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he realized that such a game would necessitate a certain amount of costume changes. Max would like that. 

“I have never wished the privilege or the labor of playing  _ personal  _ physician to anyone, Maxwell, but being yours is no small honor. I only wish you had told me sooner.” 

Klinger traced the line of one cheek, intrigued by indulging in an act that would have terrified him twenty minutes ago. “I tried.”

_ Oh God.  _ It was true. “Darling…”  _ how it must have hurt you when I did not see.  _

“It’s okay, Major. I never expected anything to come from it.”

Charles used his large hands to angle Maxwell’s head to make the next kiss just as deep as he wished. Klinger helped out by practically bending back under it. “I am a thoracic surgeon, Maxwell,” he said, sounding impossibly composed considering what his tongue had just been doing. “I should have recognized your heart when you held it out to me.” Fortunately, Winchesters did not dwell on past mistakes; they hurried to overwrite them with memories of a better caliber. Maxwell was already down to his slip; Charles gently pushed the straps off of his shoulders to gain better access to his chest. 

“Nobody’s ever listened to my heart from this angle before,” Max informed him, playing with the errant curls clustered around the Major’s ears - one pressed to his chest, trying to assign them a color. He decided on rose gold - a celebratory shade he wouldn’t mind seeing in earrings, preferably with peach and champagne diamonds. 

“I detect no note of complaint in your voice, however.” He pressed a kiss over the very heart he was trying to encourage into a faster rhythm. He stroked up Klinger’s back until he reached his hair; he threaded his fingers there, memorizing its softness. “Lay back, beautiful.” 

“Doctor’s orders?” Max teased, but he went. 

“My dear girl, you are not impugning my professional integrity, are you? Doubting the skill in my hands?” What he did to  _ erase _ any doubts that Max might harbor made the younger man shiver and shift. 

“Not complaining, Major baby,” Klinger promised, warmed by the endearment, though he did try to urge him to lay over him so that he could feel more of the man. 

“I can promise you one thing.” He pressed his lips to his forehead. “Though I hope you are never ill, this shall be my favorite way to check for fever.” 

_ You might  _ **_cause_ ** _ one if you keep that up!  _

“What an interesting little sound…” Medical science practically demanded he endeavor to elicit it a second time. Maxwell’s breath came out in small puffs that didn’t obscure the hungry “ah-ahs” behind them. 

“Major… mmmh… I know you’re not supposed to hate anybody… but if you ever did this with any other patient, I do really hate ‘em, sir.”

He sounded so desperate... and Charles had done so little, truly.  _ Reckless thing. Not only do you seem to need me in a way that no one else ever has - you make no effort to strip the longing from your voice!  _ It wasn’t just his voice, either. If Charles moved, even a little, Max followed, hips and shoulders shifting against the pallet. It tickled the surgeon to think something so whimsical, but in this particular arrangement, Maxwell was a flower (maybe a black beauty pansy to match his friendly face and dark hair) and he was the sun! 

“Possessiveness from you, pet?” Max was known for being generous and open-handed even at the worst times. 

“Can you blame me?” He made a gesture that encompassed all that the other man was. “You own a mirror, dontcha, baby?” 

He did, but the glass had never flattered him like those fast-darkening eyes did. He skirted the compliment to tease. “That’s a nearly Winchestrian quality, you know.” 

Maxwell engaged in an elaborate gamble, then. “You can make me one if you want.”

Charles went perfectly still. “Oh?” 

He wished he could convey to the man in his arms just how lovely he was in that moment. It was a living, fragile loveliness that should never have managed to flourish in a warzone, and, though he yearned for a camera or Potter’s canvases to pin it down, he knew that neither photograph nor oil paint could have produced the rich color of warmed skin under petal pink silk, the flash of the pulse in his throat, or the liquid, hopeful darkness of his eyes.  _ But you will live thus in my memory, Maxwell, treasured alongside beautiful performances that - having never been recorded - can never be heard again, alongside glimpses of beauty that existed in the slender space between collapsing seconds. And when the light of my life fails, they will close up my form for that endless sleep and my treasures will be with me,  _ **_of_ ** _ me… and chiefest among them, I am starting to believe, will be these visions of you that no one else shall ever share or see.  _

Max reached up to touch his cheek again, asking for reassurance. “Major?”

“If you are going to propose to me, my love, I will not insist that you take a knee, but I  _ do  _ insist that you say my name.” 

Klinger moved so rapidly that the transition was nearly cartoonish; he wasn’t about to miss this chance. “Can you wait on a ring, Charles? I don’t have any jewelry on me.”

“Are you similarly bereft of ribbons? I am partial to your ribbons."

He was not, and he smiled at being reminded that he was getting a very clever partner who knew him well enough to bring the truest parts of him into this. “You coulda said,” he told the Major as he hiked the slip up just enough to tear a strip of silk from what Charles assumed was a garter. 

“I should have,” Charles agreed and was surprised to feel his pulse quicken when Max took his hands. 

“Charles,” he began, but the syllables caught as the moment made itself real to him. “Are you really gonna let me do this?” 

“No one has ever proposed to me before, pet, but I will not stop you.”

“But are you gonna say no?” 

“Maxwell,” laughter gilded his tone, “I cannot answer you until you ask me, my dear.” Seeing the younger man bite his lip, he added, gently, “I will remind you that I did say yes to your last request.”

Max formed the ribbon into a pretty hoop, demonstrating his skill at eyeballing measurements when it proved a perfect fit. “Charles Emerson Winchester III, would you think about sharing your really fancy last name with a poor kid from Toledo?” 

“No.” 

His head dropped; he let go of his hands so fast they might have come into contact with an electric fence. 

“I will, however, share my name and my life and my bed with you, my pretty Corporal, my skilled seamstress, my canny, clever husband,” he tipped his head up, “my gentle girl.” 

Klinger kissed the affirmation off of his mouth, took it inside of himself until his heart beat with Charles’ unique way of saying yes. “You can be kinda mean, Major baby.” 

“Not ‘tall. I just refuse to allow you to set your value at less than its worth. Call it your first taste of being Maxwell Q. E. W. Klinger. Now, I am consumed with curiosity. May I see the rest of these ribbons or do you wish to wait until our wedding night?” 

Maxwell blushed to do it, but he hiked the slip up to reveal a very beguiling creation. 

“Oh, my dear girl… you need not have asked me before your examination. Had I seen this… this fabric confection… I would have asked  _ you _ .” He curled a single ribbon about one finger. “But how on Earth do I let you loose?” 

Klinger pivoted on one knee to reveal a series of knots going down his left thigh. “I can do it if you want.” 

“Oh no, darling. You do not know it, but you are marrying a man well versed in sailing knots. This, this I can do.” Bracing Max with one huge hand splayed over his stomach, he kissed between the rosette knots as he worked them loose, smiled to feel Max arching into his hand, squirming eagerly after deeper touch. Charles tugged at the final knot with his teeth, an image that would have had Max on his knees in an instant if he hadn’t already been there. 

He settled for making an aching, wanting sound that actually made Charles remember that he was a doctor… and didn’t hurt his self-regard, either. “Hush, pretty girl. I have you,” he promised. He did, too - alternating between long-fingered touches and kisses that made Max feel incredibly vulnerable - cracked open to the center of himself. It might have scared him, the intensity of these feelings, if Charles hadn’t been looking at him with such gentleness and yearning. Each time he caught his eyes, the Major broadcast how very badly he wanted to please him. No one had ever looked at Max like that. Several times he had to close his eyes just to keep from losing everything to that gaze, and each time Charles called for him until he came back out of hiding, called him his, whispered sins into the skin of his inner thigh, fingers still playing in the ribbons he’d moved aside. 

“If I close my eyes, Maxwell, I cannot easily distinguish between your skin and silk - not by touch alone.” He kissed trembling flesh until Maxwell fantasized about holding him in place. “By taste, however…”

Klinger managed a choked laugh. “I’ve had thread and ribbons in my mouth lotsa times, sewing, Major. It’s not the best.”

“You are far more precious than silk, mine own.”

And the ways that he touched him - it made Max believe. 

He’d never believed he’d actually get to lay down beside his Major, but when he’d imagined it, he’d thought Charles would be forceful - domineering - the superior officer. What the Major was - a man in love - he made obvious with every touch, every kiss, every gentleness that Max did not believe he deserved, but was fast becoming addicted to. 

“Oh, that you like, my girl?”

Klinger threw his head back and dragged him down tight against him, needing more, wanting wrapped in him, trying to undress him enough to touch skin to skin. 

_ Frantic little creature _ , Charles thought, amused, but then Max managed to get a leg around him. 

“You still think there are parts of you that aren’t that beautiful, huh? I wondered about that.” He remembered how happy Charles had been when BJ had pranked him into thinking he had lost weight. 

Charles had no idea how he could possibly know this or what he’d done to reveal it in the course of pleasuring him. But Max just smiled - the same big, bright smile he wore when someone bothered to praise him - and said, “Don’t worry, Major baby. I’ll fix that for you - promise. Can I?”

It took the proud Major a minute to realize that he wasn’t being asked permission for the fixing part - but for Max to unzip him; he’d already tugged his shirt loose, something the Corporal had longed to do on a daily basis. To his mind, Charles was entirely too tucked in, too rigid in bearing and appearance. He needed regular attention that would muss his fine hair and brighten his lips and gently, lovingly disarrange his clothing. 

“I am ever yours, my love. Do whatever you wish.” 

It seemed a simple thing to say - I am in your hands, dear darling - but the physician, for all his hard-learned knowledge of the human form - was soon overwhelmed. Maxwell slow stroked him until he was panting after the feel of his thumb as it lifted off to brush the edges of him. He rolled the bones of his hips like playful waves and he hummed a renewed sound of welcome at the answering feel of Charles pressed into him - all soft stomach and rigid need, abdomen tight as sensations that had been long absent swept through him. 

And Max neglected nothing. His hands said he loved, equally, the broad sweep of his back where he traced nonsense patterns that worked like a spell to make the Major grind hard against him, and the space behind his chin, the brow that furrowed at being worshipped from his thinning hair down to his toes. He’d heard the romantic hyperbole of being wanted just as one was, but Klinger really did appear to be as happy teasing his manicured fingertips with kisses as he was with lapping at his throat to urge him to say pretty things in that impossible voice. 

The prettiest one turned out to be, “What- oh, Max… my dear, my dear girl you will quite finish me if you keep on in this fashion.” 

One of those huge hands braced against the pallet and his mouth came open. Klinger stroked up his arms, felt his hips work. “I can’t imagine anything nicer,” he crooned, letting Charles hear the love and helpless longing in his voice. “C’mon, Major. I never get to be proud of myself here.”

“P-proud?” The word felt foreign and his hips would  _ not _ still no matter how he scolded them. 

“Uh-huh.” Klinger sounded pleased, drawing the syllables out in a manner he’d absolutely picked up from Charles, free hand tracing his thigh, outlining the bone of one hip, rubbing his back. “You’re so handsome, Major. So smart. A fancy doctor who could have anybody.” He spoke in between Charles’ panting breaths, wanting to applaud every single one because they belonged as much to him as to the man above him - they were  _ for  _ him, for a man in a dress, a coward in a warzone, a failed section eight schemer who’d somehow managed to bargain his way underneath the most beautiful man he’d ever seen… and now he was making him fall apart. “I have nightmares here,” he confessed, guiding one of those hands to tangle in his hair. “But if you give me this, Major baby, I bet I don’t dream about nothing else the rest of the war. C’mon, Charles.” 

And a short, sharp cry tore from his throat - nearly visible against the taut muscle there - and Klinger had the key he’d been seeking. 

“Charles!” 

The Major moaned for him - a long “oh” that might have seemed marked by pain or regret, but which was infused with the secret thrill of leaving behind an existence in which he had been much too alone, much too untouched. Then he nipped at the soft flesh of his lover’s throat. “Again, Max. Let me hear it again.” 

Legs wrapped round him in a pattern more intricate than the ribbons from which Charles had been delighted to release him, Max was still Max. “Then you’ll come for me?”

“Demanding… pet…” he said again. 

Klinger decided that that wasn’t “no,” - and that pet stuff gave him an idea. “Charles,” he said again,  _ begged _ again. “Let me make it good for you. Let me make you feel good.” And then he maneuvered beneath the taller man and lost the ability to talk for a moment - though not the ability to coax him with his tongue. 

Charles had told the lithe, bantering creativity that he had a big mouth before, but his tongue felt small and sharp as it curled around him, as it bathed him with quick, little strokes that contained nothing of skill but everything of enthusiasm and a genuine desire to please. “My dear… oh… Max…”

It was not the warning he’d intended to utter, or the permission he thought he ought to ask, but Klinger didn’t draw back anyway. He just took him deeper as his hips jerked forward in three jagged thrusts, rhythm as shattered as he was, and Charles held onto the image of his dark eyes as he swallowed. “Good girl,” he praised as he was finished expertly with soft motions meant to sustain the tectonic tremors Max had elicited; a honeyed sweetness still occupied his fluttering stomach. “My good,  _ good _ girl.” Maxwell kissed him there and murmured something about how beautiful he was, how perfect and Charles almost laughed because the dear thing hadn’t been bragging about fixing him after all. There was no part of him he could disdain if Maxwell found it worthy. 

He was barely holding himself up when he dragged the younger man into his arms. “May I kiss you, darling?” 

A brilliant smile was his answer and Charles kissed him until his head began to roll gently against the pallet, a pleased, cat-like gesture that said, “more, more, more.” 

“You have quite upended our game, my girl. I had intended you to be first.” 

“I know you did, Major baby. But there’s nothing you coulda done that would’ve gotten me hotter than  _ that _ .” 

“Are you telling me that you are very close, even now?” 

“Listening to you? Oh, yeah.” 

Charles lay back with Maxwell against him. It took some manipulation, but he got the Corporal to throw his head back so that he could stroke the column of his throat. “Do you know what I shall always think of, now, when you wind scarves or bandannas here, pet?” 

Max made a humming noise for no; he was so keyed up that it was hard not to strain against Charles. He kept hearing the way he’d - he, Corporal Klinger!! - had robbed that voice of its eloquence and left just the raw force of it, the beauty, the  _ want _ . 

“I will think of untying them and binding your clever hands so that I may once more have the exquisite pleasure of spending in your throat.” 

He smiled at the truly desperate, stunned look these words won him. He usually wasn’t given to being explicit - but if his voice pleased the trembling young thing in his arms, Charles would find new ways to use it for his pleasure. 

“Would you permit me, Max?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.” 

Charles stroked up his chin, used his other hand to grasp him. “Sir, hmm? You keep putting yourself into my hands - as an officer, as a doctor. Do I merit such trust with all of this?”

Max gasped. “It’s all yours, Charles. I trust you.” 

“I would give myself to you so slowly…”

They could both imagine it - Charles feeding him each inch, Maxwell making mewing welcoming sounds, getting him wet, keeping him warm. 

“You’d just be getting ready anyway,” Max agreed, joining the game. 

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Then you’d use those magic fingers of yours on me.”

Those fingers were busy even then, making sweat spring out on his chest. 

He reached back to stroke his face. “I’ve never done it, but I bet if you talk me through it that I take you better than anybody else ever did. I sure love you more and that’s gotta count for something.” 

There was too much in this little speech for Charles to bear. It spoke of Maxwell’s inexhaustible trust in him, but, also, of his willingness to please him in any way that Charles wished, even if he had to rely on him for guidance. It told him, too, that Max regretted the lack of experience he brought to the table, even as he hated the idea that anyone else had ever been in his bed (no matter how briefly). Most of all, it told him that the proposal hadn’t been necessary. Max had been in love with him before they went to bed and intended to keep loving him forever. 

“I do not deserve you,” he told him. “But I will always endeavor to live up to you. Now, darling, do you suppose you might confer on me the singular pleasure of, ah, letting me see you, ah,” 

Max cut him off with a laugh. “We’ll get you all the words later, Major baby. You did pretty good just now with the scarf stuff, so you’re off the hook. Just tell me where you want me.” 

Charles helped him into his lap. “I missed seeing you eyes before, when you, ah, when,” 

“When I went down on you, baby? We could have changed positions if you wanted.” 

“I fear I was quite incapable of, ah, with… withdrawing myself from your pretty, pretty throat.”

“I don’t have a whole lot of experience,” Max admitted, ducking his head a little. “I wasn’t sure how it’d be. Glad you liked it, though.”

“Liked it? Dear girl, I was  _ shaking.  _ I… it is not gentlemanly to admit, perhaps, but I quite considered holding your head down.” 

“You could’ve. I’m not that delicate.”

“I know your strength. But you are precious to me.” 

“I want to be good for you. I’ll do anything for you, Charles. Even if you hafta teach it to me.”

“I feel precisely the same.”

Maxwell rolled his hips for him, settling. “You have great hands, Major baby. Nothing left for you to learn there.” And he leaned into his shoulder with a sigh as one of those hands came to rest at his back, while the other set to work urging him into letting go. 

His head was still tucked tightly into the Major’s neck when he returned to himself. “Oh, Charles…” 

Making a private note to repurpose his tape recorder to capture Max saying his name like that, he kissed him. “That was quite an interesting monologue, my dear. And not all in English, I think?”

Klinger blushed. There was  _ no way  _ he was telling this proud, preening creature that he’d just called him not just his superior officer (and damn, his hands really were superior no matter what the other surgeons thought about it) but  _ his lord and master _ . “Arabic,” he admitted. “Mhm, I think I hurt my throat, yelling for you.”

Charles' eyes glittered. “You know, Max, we never did actually get to that physical…” 

End! 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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